


Cursed or Not

by Gallifrean_assbutts_in221b



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Destiel - Freeform, Episode: s07e23 Survival of the Fittest, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:21:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallifrean_assbutts_in221b/pseuds/Gallifrean_assbutts_in221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm not good luck, Dean."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cursed or Not

**Author's Note:**

> So, that scene in 7x23 Survival of the Fittest—you know the one—I think we all know how that scene should've gone.

Cas sighs a little, feeling a strong need to explain. Dean needs to know his reasoning. “If we attack Dick, and fail, you and Sam die heroically, correct?”

Dean shifts, unsure where Cas is going with this. “I don't know, I guess.”

There’s a plea in Cas’s eyes, a plea that Dean will get it—he can’t stand it if the hunter doesn’t know the full extent of how sorry he truly is. “At best, I die trying to fix my own stupid mistake. Or—” Bitterness fills the blue of his  eyes. “I don’t die, I’m brought back again…I see now it’s a punishment resurrection, it’s worse every time…”

This train of thought throws Dean off and he shoots Cas an odd look, despite the sorrow practically radiating off the guy in waves. “Sorry, we’re—we’re talking about God crap, here, right?”

Cas has to make him understand. “I’m not good luck, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Honestly. The way Cas values himself—or rather, doesn’t—is annoying. “Yeah, well, you know what? Bottom of the ninth, and you’re the only guy left on the bench…” He shrugs, trying very hard to be nonchalant about just how much the angel means to him. “Sorry, but I’d rather have you. Cursed or not.”

Cas tilts his head, perplexed, and wonders whether Dean really means that. He certainly seems to.

“And anyway, nut up, all right? We’re all cursed. Do I seem like good luck to you?”

Cas can’t help the smile curling around his lips, his face flooded with gratitude, and stares back at Dean with something strange in his eyes, something that makes Dean feel an odd pang for the angel. The emotion on his features is strange and inscrutable. He recognizes it, but doesn’t understand it; it’s present in the way that Cas sometimes looks at Dean when they’re alone, present in his voice when he says Dean’s name quietly. It’s that look Dean can’t seem to figure out.

He cocks his head quizzically, trying and failing to decipher its meaning. “What?”

The indefinable something glints softly behind the bright blue of Cas’s eyes, and he smiles to the ground. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…” his gaze turns back to Dean, and this time he looks anxious, nervous, almost. “But I…”

He stares at Dean with such intensity that the hunter feels like he’s going to be inadvertently set on fire. His mouth hangs open, but he can’t seem to make any sound come out, so he closes it again, seeming frustrated.

Dean shakes his head a little bit, perplexed. “What?” he repeats.

Cas bites his lip, looking pained and staring at the ground. His gaze flickers to Dean for just the briefest moment. Then he comes to a decision. He’s probably going to die tomorrow, and this has been a long time coming; it’s time. He can’t wait any longer.

Cas awkwardly takes a few steps forward and bridges the gap between them. Then he lurches forward, eyes squeezed shut, and presses his lips against those of a very surprised Dean. Dean’s eyes close instinctively and his hands fly up in shock.

But he doesn’t pull away, because suddenly everything makes perfect sense.

With Cas pressed against him, he finally understands. What he sees in Cas’s eyes. Why it makes him shiver when Cas says his name, low and intimate. Why can always shake things off except for when it’s to do with that feathery son of a bitch. Why he kept the trench coat folded up in the trunk of his car when Cas was supposed to be dead (again). Finally, he gets it.

With the sudden jolt of realization, he slowly lowers his hands and wraps them around Cas’s waist. Cas reaches out and grips Dean’s shoulders, leaning even closer to deepen the kiss, which elicits an enthusiastic response from Dean.

Finally, they break apart, both breathing rather heavily and in a state of slight disbelief. Cas presses their foreheads together and smiles.

“I love you,” he whispers.


End file.
